Ingenue
by SnoOza
Summary: Because it's not everyday you wake up to see a probable Death Eater and wouldbe murderer sitting in your bedroom. [DracoHermione]
1. Day 01: Of accidents and thoughts

_Author's notes at the end of chapter_

**Disclaimer:** **Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

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**INGENUE  
**_Day 01: Of __accidents__ and thoughts_

Midsummer madness. It could only be midsummer madness.

Hermione squinted at the Draco Malfoy sitting at her desk. She contemplated his very Muggle and very bedraggled outfit of ripped jeans and crumpled t-shirt, rather too large for him. She noted how the fluorescent light seemed to bleach his pale skin white and blacken the hollows in his cheeks. Rubbing the dirt out of her eyes, she observed how his dry blond hair rippled with each sweep of the overhead fan, stretching her feet out to enjoy the breeze.

What a realistic dream, she thought, even as she felt a funny stirring in her throat.

He cleared his throat rather ostentatiously.

And then she woke up.

The creak of the bedsprings roared in her ears as she backed up on the bed, the flower-printed coverlet scrunching up beneath her feet. How could it have taken her so long to realise? She was supposed to be quicker than this! But it wasn't everyday a likely Death Eater and killer appeared in her bedroom. She fought down the instinctive urge to scream, calculating it would not help her much. What if he attacked her? Her eyes were suddenly magnetised by the sight two wands in his hands – one of them hers. His hands were growing, crowding out everything else in her vision, bony white fingers that gripped the slender wands with a surgeon's steadiness.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down and tore her eyes away from his hands. What were her options? The closed door was nearer him than her, and was probably locked too. The window? The curtains were drawn, and the windows beyond presumably bolted shut. No other weapon was within reach – the bedside lamp was two arm's reach away and all her books were on the table _next_ to him. She doubted her bolster and its design of cheerful yellow magnolias would fare very well against his wand(s).

Shit, there came the blinding panic again. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the coldness of her bare feet. She could do this. She just needed to calm down, to breathe, to _think_. She opened her eyes. She just needed to get a grasp of the situation, then she could get the upper hand, create an opportunity for escape.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and was surprised to find that her voice was steady. How did he get into the room? What had she been doing before this?

She remembered being at Eldens with her friends; the stocky man with the brown coat, brown hair, brown eyes; asking for a beer in a soft drawl –

"Oh my gosh, I asked if you were Draco Malfoy," Hermione breathed.

"Well, not exactly the smartest thing you could say considering the circumstances, but it sure helped me make a lot of decisions," Malfoy said.

"Excuse me for not dazzling you with my wit when I'm taken aback," Hermione snapped before she could help herself. She hated it when people called her stupid, because it was probably the one thing she definitely wasn't. But at least, if Malfoy was in the mood to be snarky, he probably wasn't going to kill her too soon. She realised it had only been several months that the words 'killer' and 'dangerous' had become identifiable with Malfoy's name. It wasn't that long ago he was just a stupid spineless git with an over-inflated ego. Hermione suddenly felt a bit calmer. After all, he hadn't actually _killed_ Professor Dumbledore. That counted for a lot…right?

Malfoy cleared his throat again. "I'm not sure if you're aware of your tendency to space out, but I'd just like to highlight to you that it's not particularly productive."

Hermione blinked. She hadn't remembered Malfoy to be quite so annoying. But then again, memory was a funny thing. After Dumbledore's death, she had also remembered Malfoy to be a lot more threatening than he was being right now. At least she knew how to deal with annoying now. Punching people was what an immature, 13-year-old Hermione Granger did.

"How did you manage to kidnap me from the pub?" Only as the question left her mouth, did Hermione realise the possible implications. "What did you do with my friends?" Did you kill them? Did you kill the whole pub? But…Malfoy wasn't like that, right? Anyway, he wouldn't have bothered to keep her alive then. He must have something to negotiate with her. Hermione felt the tension in her shoulders ebb further. The situation actually seemed quite hopeful.

"I don't think kidnap is quite the term to use here," Malfoy said in some crossness. "I have better things to do than _kidnap_ people."

Hermione was incredulous. "And kidnap isn't the term used to denote holding a person against his or her will?"

"I don't believe you aren't willing to be in your own room…"

"Not when you're taking me hostage in it!" Hermione exploded.

"Technically, a hostage refers to a person being held so as to coerce another to adhere to certain conditions. That involves at least three people, in case you were wondering."

"Well I'm sorry I don't have time to discuss semantics with you, because I'm more interested in finding out what the hell is going on!" Hermione shouted. She knew she was losing control; she hated it, and she couldn't help it. She was angry that she was losing to Malfoy – she oughtn't, he was a stupid git! And she was angry that she couldn't stop her anger from overwhelming her logic, that she _knew_ she was acting rashly and she couldn't stop herself. She was seventeen already! She was –

"Hermione dear, is everything alright? I heard shouting."

Hermione jumped and backed her head into the wall behind her. She winced and clutched her head, staring fearfully from the door to Malfoy. She was pretty sure the giddy sensation she was feeling was not solely from the pain.

Don't come in don't come in don't come in, Hermione thought frantically. She had no idea what Malfoy would do to her mother. Would he kill her? She thought he wasn't a killer, but did she really know? She hadn't known he was very likely a Death Eater either, or that he had been trying to kill Dumbledore for most of sixth year, albeit in a coward's way. Who knows how a coward would react when pushed into a corner?

"Hermione? I'm coming in," her mother called, and the door slid open.

Hermione stopped breathing.

"Oh hi, Mrs Granger, I'm so sorry about the noise," Malfoy said politely, smiling slightly abashedly. "We just had some disagreements over the project, and you know how Hermione gets when things don't go her way."

Hermione did her best not to goggle stupidly as both her mother and Malfoy looked over at her with identical knowing smiles.

"Well then, I hope you two manage to sort out your differences, so you can get to sleep soon. It's already way past twelve! Goodnight, you two!"

With a final bob of her bushy head, Hermione's mother disappeared onto the side of freedom.

Hermione expelled her breath in something between a snort and a hiss. "Project? What project? And what do you mean how do I get when things don't go my way?" She did not appreciate the stupid smile he and _her_ mother had jointly showered on her.

"I just told your mother we were doing an Arithmancy project together," Malfoy said.

"But she knows I'm not going back to Hogwarts!"

"I know," Malfoy said irritably. That made it significantly a bit harder. Fortunately she's a Muggle so it wasn't so bad."

Hermione frowned. "Huh?"

Malfoy stared thoughtfully at her. "How about I tell you exactly what you want to know about what happened between the pub and here, and you let me stay in your room for the next few days."

Hermione couldn't stop her mouth from opening just that bit more.

Malfoy cocked his head on one side. "Not that you actually have much of a choice, either way," he mused.

"Well thank you for just noticing that!" Hermione couldn't help but snap. She was feeling like there were a lot of things she couldn't seem to help. She hated how Malfoy wrested control from her so easily. He was definitely different from before. Hermione felt a little tingle in her arms. She just hoped that what she had seen so far was all the difference in him.

"But at least it'll shut you up, right?"

Hermione bristled. "We'll see about that," she retorted. She knew it was a downright stupid idea to challenge one's captor, but (and once again) she couldn't help it. When would she grow up and stop reacting so easily to insults? She was supposed to be more mature than that little girl who had punched Malfoy…though man, that was one good memory.

Malfoy sighed. "Since I'm going to be staying for a while, I think the both of us will have a much more pleasant time here if we cooperate a little, so I hope you don't push me to a point where I have to destroy that balance."

Hermione stayed silent. It was suddenly all too clear to her. It was all an act. This Malfoy talking to her now was as real as the one who had spoken so courteously to her mother. The real Draco Malfoy must have been the first one she saw. The Malfoy who held the wands in a surgeon's grip. Her eyes glanced downwards again. He was still holding them with the same surety, only now, the wand that wasn't hers was pointing towards her. Hermione felt herself shrink against the wall. Did she even have a chance against him? He had planned everything so carefully, even down to how he would _act_. She wanted to shudder, but she didn't dare betray any sign of weakness in his presence. All she could do now was play along with him. He appeared to be quick on his feet, but Hermione had some wits too. That was the only thing she was proud of. She could think. And she was sure that given time to calm down and truly absorb the situation, she could out-think him. She had to.

His 'request' had sounded simple enough – just stay a few days. But what was his motivation, really? Was this part of a massive Death Eater operation to lock down Harry's friends of friends of the Order? She _was_ due to join Harry and Ron at the Order in a week. She would have gone together with them after their last term had ended, but she had wanted to spend more time with her parents before she submitted herself to what was likely to be the most dangerous segment of her life, not to mention explain and convince them of her decision.

"Right, remember what I said about the spacing out thing?"

Hermione started. Shit, she really had to start thinking faster, thinking smarter. How else could she outsmart him?

"Okay, so tell me how you got me from the pub here. I'm surmising you didn't kill anyone," Hermione said as neutrally as possible, crossing the fingers of her left hand out of Malfoy's sight.

Malfoy made a sound of disgust. "Do you realise how troublesome killing people is?"

"So what did you do then?" Hermione asked, ignoring the glibness of his last statement. Was he familiar with that 'troublesome' activity?

Malfoy shrugged. "Just a simple sleeping spell on you and memory altercation on your friends. They were very willing to hand you over to your old schoolmate after you were completely wasted and unable to even wake up. Tsk, and you're underaged too."

"Like you aren't!" Hermione shot back, then mentally slapped herself.

"Well, in my Polyjuice-d state, I'm actually 22, so I'm definitely old enough to make the conscious decision to waste myself," Malfoy smiled.

"Considering the Polyjuice Potion was wearing off already, I wouldn't say you were exactly 22," Hermione commented, trying to make her sarcasm sound as blandly conversational as possible.

"Yes, well, I was a bit careless," Malfoy said a little regretfully. "But I was trying to stretch out my supply, and having been to the pub several times, I honestly didn't expect to run into anyone I knew in that inconspicuous little space."

Malfoy paused reflectively. "But at least that tiny accident got me free accommodation, and I don't have to worry so much about security and disguise here."

"Security from what?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy ignored her, and Hermione kept that sentence in mind. "Your parents were pretty easy to convince too. I did have some trouble with the whole 'not going back to school' nonsense, but as I said, thank goodness for Muggles. It requires so much less magic to tweak their memories, especially when the scenarios are pretty plausible."

"But…" Hermione wasn't sure if she was putting herself in danger by asking this. "What about the wards on this house? How did you circumvent them?"

Malfoy smiled. "You don't have to worry about that, Granger. I'm pretty sure there won't be any pesky wizards knocking at your door."

Hermione felt her heart get just a bit louder in her ears. How could he talk about the wards so dismissively? She didn't know exactly what they were, but they were put in by the Order. Was he so powerful he could break spells she wasn't even sure of? Clearly, he had matured significantly as a wizard, but…when? Surely he hadn't seemed quite so intimidating in sixth year. It _had_ only been slightly less than a month since he had disappeared with the group of Death Eaters…with Snape.

"What happened to Snape?" Hermione blurted out. "Do you mind if I ask?" she added hastily. This was clearly a bad question, because any answer would surely drag Malfoy's Death Eater associations to the surface. And she definitely didn't want to find out if he was. What if this question awakened currently dormant Death Eater tendencies in him, like a bloody switch? Oh my gosh, Hermione thought, I may die because I couldn't stop my damned curiousity!

"Yes, I do mind, actually," Malfoy said. "As it is, I've covered the events from the pub up to your room, so I've kept my end of the deal. Now it's your turn."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, confused. Was she supposed to take his words literally?

Malfoy looked amused. "Well, not that literally, but I don't really mind."

"That's a relief to know," Hermione said dryly. "So, what's going to happen, now that you've given me the green light to the red light?"

Malfoy looked amused. "That was quite witty," he said, not seeming to notice Hermione's shell-shocked expression. "But, sarcastic comments aside, you should probably heed your mother's advice to sleep now, since it _is_ way past twelve, after all."

Hermione blinked. Who the hell would think about sleep when there was a dangerous possible murderer slash definite kidnapper in their room?

"And what are you going to do?" Hermione asked politely.

"I'm not sleepy yet," Malfoy said.

"So you're going to just sit there and watch me the whole night?" Hermione asked, aghast.

"No, because I actually do have sleep cycles like every normal human being," Malfoy deadpanned.

"But, er…" Hermione paused. How could she ask her captor this?

"Oh, and I wouldn't bother too much about getting off the bed if I were you. I can assure you, it won't be a very nice experience." He smiled at her.

"Okay…" Hermione decided it was better not to ask any further. She trusted (what a word) that he had some way for preventing her from escaping. But that aside, how did he seriously expect her to sleep while he was there? She definitely was doing no such thing, for as long as she could help it.

Rather grudgingly, she got under her covers and curled up on her side, facing Malfoy. If he was going to stare at her all night long, so was she, damn it. This was probably a good idea too, because it gave her plenty of time to think and weigh her options. She tried to ignore the fact that that meant Malfoy had an equal amount of time to weigh _his_ options too, not to mention the extra few hours he had when he knocked her out. And considering the success of the plan he had worked out in those few hours, it didn't particularly seem like time would aid her.

She had always been somewhat of a slow thinker, which would come as a surprise to those who had become used to her readiness in verbal sparring or the split second between a teacher's question and her answer. But Hermione knew that although she was good at answers memorised from elsewhere (and only because she spent most of her time memorising her homework), she was not as quick as Harry in making instant decisions, formulating a coherent and feasible plan within minutes. Though never externally, her thoughts became agitated quickly, and in a verbal argument, she often caught herself spouting illogical arguments, often covered up by indulging in the ever useful logical fallacies. She had always been aggrieved by her ability to think on the spot, because who likes to feel stupid after putting in so much effort? And so she kept thinking, all the time, and looking underneath the underneath of the underneath, because that was the only way she could keep up; instead of making a good decision in a short time, she could make the best decision given a longer time. In a way, it justified the slowness of her thought.

And now here she was, presented with a problem truly to sleep on. Although she couldn't fathom Malfoy's thoughts, she thought she could perceive his situation to a certain extent. He was obviously in hiding from someone or something. The fact that he was only staying a few days (had he mentioned how many?) meant that he was expecting this thing to be resolved soon. Or maybe he was intending to head on elsewhere, away from whoever or whatever he was hiding from. It seemed possible that he was hiding from the other Death Eaters. If not, there ought to have been many willing and able to provide him with security from whatever he feared. Or perhaps, this whole thing was a set-up in itself, and he was under orders (or acting alone?) to carry out some duty involving her. To immobilise her ability to aid Harry in a possible upcoming attack? To elicit some kind of important information? To really be held as hostage, in Malfoy's pedantic definition of the term? After all, why had he not killed her, or just run off after knocking her out? Wasn't residing in her house like living in the lion's den? But then again, there was the saying that the safest place to hide is often the most dangerous, where one is least expected.

Hermione shut her eyes. Her thoughts were killing her. It happened whenever she thought too much, and that was often. The swell of competing opinions and possibilities in her head often threatened to overwhelm her. But she knew that it would pass, eventually. If she kept doggedly sifting through the sea, the _ocean_ of options, answering her own questions, questioning her own answers, she would eventually arrive at the final answer she was seeking. She would just have to spend the whole night thinking. Because if nothing else, that was one thing she could do.

_"__Characters are not born like people, of woman; they are born of a situation, a sentence, a metaphor con__t__aining in a nutshell a basic human possibility that the author thinks no one else has discovered or said something essential about._

_But isn't it true that an author can write only about himself?"  
_-- 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being', Milan Kundera

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I would like to claim that this is a good fic, but I don't think it will be, if it follows the standard of the first chapter. It is just a plot I must write, no matter what. Given inspiration and time, it might conceivably be good (and it _ought_ to be, because I am hooked by its core idea), but I've waited a year and inspiration has not knocked on my door, while HP7 is already practically in my living room. Because I greatly dislike writing AUs, I am trying to speed-write this fic with one chapter a day, to hopefully finish on July 21st, when the apocalypse lands, so to speak. I don't expect to receive many reviews, being on ffNET and posting the chapters with exceedingly short intervals between them, but I have to say this, because I do so love to see reviews – if you've read thus far, please do support me and leave a little comment; of improvement needed; of inconsistencies (probably many, as I only have had time to look through the chapter once); or just some words of encouragement. I really appreciate every review that I get. You don't know how much it does for my motivation to write. ((insert angst about insecurity and the need for acceptance by peers )) 

Also, stick around for the ending, if you can; if nothing else, that is the part worth waiting for. It's also the part I'm waiting for. :)

cheers,  
**&****Snoo****za**


	2. Day 02: Of thoughts and doubts

A/N: Apologies for (m)any mistakes, have had no time to send it for beta-reading or look through thoroughly myself (what's new). Also unsure over certain British expressions (e.g. lunch or dinner?), please correct me if wrong. Apologies also for bad ending of this chapter; just too tired to write further. Thank you for the reviews and people who added this story to their Alert list. Two reviews is really rather depressing, but to those two, thank you very much. :)

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling**

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**INGENUE  
**_Day 02: __Of thoughts and __doubt__s_

"I think we may have a problem."

Staring at Malfoy's serious face, Hermione felt her shoulders tense. Oh, here it came, she thought in a kind of groggy frenzy. Malfoy had figured out it was not worth keeping her alive. Bloody hell, she was going to die sitting on her bed with her head throbbing, the sun searing her face, and dark circles under her eyes, not to mention a very oily nose and forehead. What a depressing way to die, she thought briefly, pointless and pathetic, not to mention incredibly unglamorous…

"I have to stay here for longer than I expected. I was hoping to leave by tomorrow, but it appears I'm going to be delayed," Malfoy said. He paused. "For another eight days."

"Eight?" gasped Hermione, though she couldn't help but release a quiet sigh. She wasn't going to die, after all. She closed her eyes rubbed her temples aggressively. Gosh her head was hurting her. She didn't think she could have gotten more than three hours of sleep, and _damn_ that sun was annoying. Bloody Malfoy, just because he wanted light and her window didn't look onto any streets or neighbour's windows (and she'd liked the privacy that gave her!) _and_ the sun wasn't in his bloody direction, he had to draw the curtains and bake her to death. Oh, that would be rich, he magnanimously spares her life and she dies of sunstroke due to his need to have sunlight. Come on, he was a Slytherin, did he need sunlight anyway? Shouldn't he operate in the dark? Oh wait, that was a vampire.

Hermione cracked an eye open. He was just staring at her. Did he do _nothing_ but stare at her? He was like a stalker, except he was a kidnapper. Hermione blinked both eyes open and stopped massaging her temples. Clearly, it wasn't helping her think any better. She needed to wash her face. She glanced towards the bathroom and automatically extended her feet towards the ground.

There was a thudding sound and Hermione's feet shot back onto the bed, her heart beating wildly. How could she have forgot? She snapped her head in Malfoy's direction, hoping her eyes would not meet a spell from his wand. She blinked.

Malfoy had dropped his elbow onto her table and was resting his face against his fist. "It's nice to know you don't have any other opinions about this little matter," he said with just a tint of waspishness. "I know _I'm_ going to be bored to death here."

Was he…glaring at her? Hermione felt like throwing something at him. And _who_ parked himself in her room and trapped her on her bed, anyway? She wondered what would have happened if she actually had stepped of the bed like she had almost accidentally done. Why did she have no sense of the danger she was in? She looked at Malfoy. Probably because he didn't act like he was as dangerous as he ought to be.

"I mean," he was saying. "You don't have anything in this room except books! And nothing exciting too! Nonsense like 'The East-Asian Financial Crisis'. Where are the trashy romances? And what about that wonderful Muggle contraption, the uh, right, the telly."

Hemione gaped. There were many things she could take comment with in that little speech of his. She chose the most astounding. "Did you just call a _Muggle_ item 'wonderful'?"

Malfoy appeared unfazed at what Hermione was sure had to be a slip-up. "Oh well, it's one of the few things they can take pride in. I don't think anything of that sort will be prevalent in the wizarding world soon, since we're so adamant on not diluting the academic focus of our culture. From what I've heard, the Ministry has been blocking attempts to introduce different variations of this telly thing since mid-1800s. You probably wouldn't think it possible, since Muggles have this huge thing with freedom of choice and expression and whatnot, but the Ministry has lots of support from various lobbies, most notably the academics. The largest name would probably be -"

Malfoy stopped suddenly, but Hermione was too preoccupied to consider that now. "I didn't know you could actually _think_," she said, forgetting that it wasn't exactly the most polite thing to tell your captor.

Malfoy seemed slightly fazed at that. He was twirling his wand (Hermione's had disappeared – she supposed it must be in his pocket) while staring at her. Hermione had the feeling he was looking through her.

"Well," he said finally. "I suppose we never had much chance to discuss other issues…"

"No, it's not only that," Hermione interrupted. "Harry and Ron and a lot of the other Gryffindors would never talk about things like these." She couldn't believe she was actually excited that Malfoy appeared to be more intellectual than the rest of her friends.

"Oh," Malfoy snorted. "It's a Gryffindor thing. I guess it's not really their fault. I've noticed that most Gryffindors' parents try to bring their up their children in this rose-coloured attic for as long as possible, obsessed with preserving their 'innocence' for as long as possible. Courage and whatever else is great and all, but there's so much improbable idealism it's almost nauseating. It's not till they get out of school and mingle with the real world do they start getting a bit more mature.

"Slytherins grow up in a political environment. We are brought to each other's society dinners when we are old enough to speak, so that we can learn from the grown-up's conversations, mingle with the next generation's elites. Sometimes favoured Ravenclaws were allowed to join. That's another bunch that's more worldly, though they tend to be more moderately aligned. You should hear someof the debates the elders got into. Absolutely stunning."

Hermione kept quiet. She thought of the Draco Malfoy they knew (had known?), the incredibly immature brat whose idea of a debate involved calling people names, and whose only interests laid in his ego and bullying Harry. Was it really possible for him to change so fast? It sure as hell didn't _seem_ like he had any manner of political, not even intellectual, inclinations before fourth year. Was he lying? And if not, why was he lying? To make the Slytherins seem grander than they were? Was it part of his Slytherin pureblood hangover? He had to be lying, or otherwise why woujld he reveal so much about the environment Slytherins…and Death Eaters lived in.

A realisation gripped Hermione; a realisation so painfully obvious she wondered why it had not occurred to her sooner. Was he lying about everything? He probably was. It only made sense. Every word of truth he said would give her ammunition against him. As a Slytherin, he surely had enough cunning to understand that, and Malfoy was cunning if nothing else. She remembered the countless times he had turned situations to his advantage. Like Buckbeak. A flash of anger rippled through her as she remembered that incident. She looked up at him, feeling the anger pulsate within her. Images were returning to her now. Malfoy's smugness in almost causing Hagrid his job…Malfoy helping Rita Skeeter smear Harry's name…Malfoy abusing his power as member of the Inquisitorial Squad… She couldn't believe she was letting him sit comfortably in her room, this as-good-as-murderer, this damned disgusting excuse for a human, she couldn't believe she was letting him sit in her room and order her around…while she passively ate up his words without question. She'd been around Gryffindors too long – but this was no Gryffindor. This was a Slytherin, and a Slytherin through and through.

His next sentence was so abrupt it took her a while to register the words.

"Do you think the Sorting Hat and the Hogwarts houses were one of the worst traditions of the school?"

For the first time in a quite a while, Hermione was completely floored. "Huh?"

"I mean," Malfoy said. "The houses not only perpetuate stereotypes, they _encourage_ students to conform to those stereotypes by grouping students with similar interests and backgrounds together. With the students' opinions and thoughts bouncing off each other in close proximity, the stereotypes are naturally amplified."

Hermione thought it through. He had a _point_. He was Draco Malfoy and he actually said something that made sense, something that had never occurred to her before. So what was the point of having houses? She thought about the consequences of mixing Slytherins with Gryffindors. Maybe it was to prevent Gryffindors from being influenced negatively by Slytherins. But then again, it could work the other way around, with Slytherins being positively influenced by Gryffindors. Or maybe Gryffindors and Slytherins would still clique together even if the house system was removed, by virtue of their predispositions.

What was more important, Hermione realised, was why Malfoy had asked her this question. What did he hope to achieve? It seemed completely out of the blue and irrelevant to their current situation. Unless, was he trying to bridge the gap between them by hinting that Slytherins and Gryffindors should not have had any division in the first place? Oh my gosh, Hermione thought, practically feeling a light bulb go off in her head. Was he trying to effect Stockholm syndrome in her and then elicit information from her, or somehow use her against Harry and the Order? Like that would ever happen, Hermione thought heatedly. She would never fall for Malfoy's trap. She was smarter than that. No wonder he had been so talkative too, and so intellectual. He knew that would make her view him favourably. And that must be why she had stopped fearing him so quickly, despite him having tried to kill Dumbledore and probably knee-deep in Death Eater activities. He had purposely portrayed himself as acerbic but harmless, in order to allay her suspicions.

Malfoy was looking at her somewhat oddly, but Hermione met his eyes with a renewed surge of confidence. She could play his game too.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Malfoy cut in first. "Clearly, talking to you is going to be a very boring affair, so I think I shall not bother."

Hermione felt her stomach churn. She would show him what talking to her was like (and boring definitely did not describe it). "Well, though on first glance it seems as though you have a point, I believe that since people of similar kind naturally flock together, you would probably still end up with a grouping similar to the four houses in existence. If that were the case, having them together would probably create greater disharmony than if they were in separate houses, especially if they have extremely divergent opinions."

Malfoy's back straightened a little and it seemed like he was going to make a retort, but instead what came out of his mouth was, "As I said, boring. I'm not going to waste my time talking with you."

Hermione was flabbergasted. Boring!? In what way was that argument of hers boring? She could think of at least three ways to reply to it; it was thought-provoking! Just like his argument. She stared at him. He had turned away from her and was resting his elbows on the table, staring out the window.

She couldn't believe he found the lack of clouds in the sky more interesting than her. She ground her teeth softly. What was wrong with him? One moment he was chatty as a Weasley, the next he was as reticent as a…she searched around for good analogy. She failed. Goodness, her brain was giving out on her, she thought grumpily. She must have overworked her brain trying to analyse Malfoy's actions. She wondered if there was any meaning to his sudden reserve. She didn't see how that would improve her relationship with him. She creased her eyebrows. Surely it couldn't be that the whole thing had not been rehearsed, and Malfoy had shut up because he realised he'd been revealing too much? Surely he was smarter than that? Hermione's head was starting to pound. She had to stop second guessing her second guessing, it would surely kill her brain cells someday.

She focussed her eyes on Malfoy again, as if she could somehow read his intentions from his physical being. She realised she had not actually observed him properly yet, being too caught up with the whole situation. It had been stupid of her, because she could actually make quite a number of deductions based on just his appearance alone.

She realised that it was not fully her room light that had distorted his appearance yesterday. Although his skin tone hadn't changed, he was actually thinner. The hollows in his cheek were unmistakeable, and it didn't help that his clothes were about one size too big and falling off his small shoulders. It suddenly occurred to her that the reason for his oversized clothes was due to his persona when he drank Polyjuice potion. She remembered that man was rather stout. She cast around for the brown coat she remembered he had been wearing, and yes, there it was, hanging behind her door. _Her_ door. Ignoring the little flicker of annoyance, she pondered the meaning of his clothes.

The coat, as like his outfit, was very Muggle. Clearly, he had done his research on how to fit in with the Muggle society. But why was he hanging around Muggle areas in the first place? He didn't have to dress like a Muggle to kidnap her, surely, or were the Death Eaters trying to keep the affair low-key? That made sense. She suddenly remembered that Malfoy had never told her why he needed to hide in her room for a few days. Wouldn't it have made her less suspicious if he had spun a credible story? The first thing he would want to convince her would be that he was not here for any reason linked to Death Eater activities. He wasn't doing any such thing. In fact, by not telling her anything, he was fuelling her suspicions of his motive. Unless…was he really hiding from something else, as he suggested, and he really wasn't interested in her per se, but just her room as a hiding spot?

His overall haggard appearance would seem to corroborate that possibility. It made sense. From what he'd said the night before, it appeared he'd be using the Polyjuice potion for a while. Maybe he was under pressure and hiding from something, and her unexpected appearance presented a good option for him. After all, neither the Order nor the Death Eaters would think he was hiding out in his enemy's location.

A sudden grumble interrupted her thoughts. Her eyes locked with Malfoy's in surprise. Then it dawned on her.

"Hey, I can't help it if I'm hungry," she said defensively. "It's probably way past lunchtime. What time is it?"

Malfoy reached for the clock sitting on her table and turned it to face her. "Past two," he read off.

"Oh," Hermione said. Was it still that early? It felt like she'd been stuck in this room with Malfoy for millennia. A sudden thought occurred to her.

"I wonder what happened to my parents. Why didn't they come in to ask me to eat breakfast?"

"Oh, your mother did come in this morning to ask about breakfast, but I told her to let you sleep on," Malfoy said.

Hermione felt a twinge of anxiety prick at her. From how he'd been acting, she didn't actually _think_ Malfoy had done anything to her mother yet, but she was still worried about what had gone on when she had been asleep. Anything could have happened…

"So, do I get to eat lunch?" Hermione asked.

"No, because I intend to starve you to death after going through the whole trouble of not killing you and therefore having to camp out at your house for the next eight days."

Hermione didn't even bother replying him. _I bet he thinks he was being funny_, Hermione thought irritably.

"I found some leftover sandwiches in the pantry-"

"You've explored my kitchen?" Hermione gasped. "My house?"

Malfoy looked at her. "Well, naturally. Not when your parents were around, so don't worry. I wouldn't want to deal with anymore troublesome situations."

Hermione just stared at him.

"So yes, we can have those sandwiches for today," Malfoy continued. "I've told your mother to buy the next day's lunch for you one day in advance for the next week, so you don't have to worry about food." He paused. "I'm such a nice kidnapper," he added thoughtfully.

Hermione worked to prevent her mouth from twisting into a funny shape. And what had he said about kidnapping yesterday? He really had it all worked out though, she had to credit him on that. Of course, he did have most of the night to plan out the rest of his days here.

"What are you going to do about bathing?" she asked, secretly hopping to trip him up.

"Just don't bathe for the next few days! What do you think?" Malfoy replied crossly.

Hermione stared at him. Well, sure, she was being held captive, but if he was letting her have regular meals, surely he could work something out with hygiene too? Did _he_ intend to go for the next eight (oh gosh, why did he have to stay so long?) days without cleaning himself?

"Just kidding," Malfoy added.

Hermione wanted to throttle both him and her. Damn it, she actually fell for it!

"I've made adjustments to the bathroom yesterday, so it should be safe for use now," Malfoy said, and Hermione tried not to snort. Way to use euphemisms, she thought dryly.

"I will have to speak with you when you are using the bathroom," Malfoy said, and pre-empting her question, continued, "To keep you too occupied to try any funny ideas you might have. I don't believe you are the multi-tasking sort."

Hermione felt like she'd been slapped with ice. How did he _know_ that? Was she that easy to read? And she sure as hell did not like having her faults pointed out to her by the boy she used to despise…that she _still_ despised.

Goodness, why was she thinking in the past tense? She was really starting to see him much too positively now. She had to admit she was quite impressed with the thoroughness he had thought through his 'kidnapping', but it was most likely a coordinated planning by Death Eaters over a significant length of time. She refused to believe anything Malfoy. Because if she did, it meant she would have to believe a lot of his words, and it was practically impossible to tell what was real and what was not. It was much safer to take all he said with a healthy pinch of salt, because if she kept distrusting him, she would be kept on her toes at all times, and ready for whatever he might throw at her.

She looked at him with renewed determination. She was not going to fall for any of his traps anymore. She was ready for this.

"It's lunchtime," she said, a genuine smile on her face.

_"__There are two ways to slide easily through life; to believe everything or to doubt everything. Both ways save us from thinking.__"  
_--Alfred Korzybski


	3. Day 03: Of doubts and understanding

A/N: Okay, I feel like it's only getting worse and worse… Should I just give up?

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling**

* * *

**INGENUE  
**_Day 03: Of doubts and understanding_

It was ten in the morning, and Hermione was dying. She may have been Hermione Granger, but even she had problems sticking through hours after hours of reading non-fiction. And that was all she had been doing since the previous afternoon. Or trying to do, at least.

She had had no chance to nimbly avoid his traps while spinning her own, as she had hazily planned. After lunch, Malfoy had still considered her too boring to bestow with the gift of his voice and tossed her The East Asian Financial Crisis to while away her time. He, meanwhile, spent most of his time staring at various articles of furniture or out the window. Hermione was pretty sure he was not daydreaming though, as the wand in his hand constantly twitched in tandem with the unobtrusive motions of his hand mimicking writing.

She, on the other hand, had spent most of her time wondering what he was wondering about. She had been waiting for him to make the first move, but as it didn't appear to be forthcoming, she would have to act first. She had many things to find out from him. How he had got past the wards around her house, exactly what spell he was using to keep her bound to her bed, and how he managed to remove it to let her use the bathroom without her seeing him use his wand.

She knew a fair number of spells, but she couldn't seem to recognise this one. She had tried to leave the bed the first time he used the bathroom, but the minute her feet had hit the floor, she'd been flipped right back onto the bed, narrowly missing cracking her head on the wall and eliciting an agonised creak from her bed. There were several barrier spells that operated quite similarly to this, but the barriers were vertical rather than horizontal, and all of them definitely required a wand to call off.

She wondered if finding out any of this would even help her escape, anyway. It would just give her a bit more information about the situation, and that was it. But she knew she had to at least _do_ something. Sitting here doing nothing was driving her crazy. In honesty, what was really bothering her was her fear that the Death Eaters were using her as a pawn against Harry. She had dismissed the idea that she was being held captive in order to weaken the capabilities of the Order, for she was definitely not yet considered a truly formidable enemy. After all, even the Order had not felt her threatened enough to insist she reside in the Order's headquarters immediately, or relocate somewhere safer than her parent's home in the outskirts of London. She had also considered that the Death Eaters wanted to pry information out of her, but Malfoy's lack of interest in talking to her appeared to negate this possibility. However, her link as one of Harry's best friends would make her an effective weapon against him, and no one would know that better than Malfoy (and Snape?). What if they were threatening Harry with her capture at this moment?

Hermione gripped her coverlet, feeling the soft cotton bunch into the grooves of her hand. She hated to admit it, but she knew part of the reason she had refrained from doing anything till now was also because she was quite sure she was safe at the moment and she was afraid of upsetting the equilibrium. For all his apparent calm, what did she really know about Malfoy? What if he flipped out and killed her if she said the wrong thing?

She tightened her hold on the sheets. Harry was more important than this, she told herself. Harry was willing to die for her, and so should she. Surely she at least had the guts to _ask_ a person some simple questions?

"Malfoy," she paused. "Are you really intending for us to go through the next week without talking?"

Malfoy looked at her funnily. "Well…yes." He turned back to her bookcase, his furniture of staring choice for that hour.

Okay, way to go, you just reached a dead end, Hermione thought icily to herself. She wondered how she could get him to talk. She thought back to the story he had spun the first night, that he was using her room as a hide-out. Why had he not continued that excuse? Surely, if he had given her the whole long yarn, he might have been able to successfully fool her. Or was this some reverse psychology thing, where he assumed by being suspicious about it she would think it less suspicious as his act would seem more honest? She blinked. Did that make sense? Maybe he was waiting for her to ask him that question, so that he would seem more genuine if he revealed it. Well, she could test that theory by asking him, surely.

"Malfoy, what are you hiding from?" she asked. She realised her shoulders were tense and tried to relax them as discreetly as possible.

He looked at her in annoyance. "Is your book so boring? I could pass you another one. Fiction or non-fiction?" He plucked two random books off her table and waved them at her. She realised suddenly that he had been careful to choose Muggle books. Further proof the hide-out reason was a lie! As a Death Eater, of course he would not want her to learn new spells, or read about the last war against Voldemort.

"No…" Hermione started, but was cut off by Malfoy.

"I did say that book was nonsense though," Malfoy said somewhat smugly, nodding at The East Asian Financial Crisis lying open on the bed, its spine staring defiantly at him. "You can learn all you need to know about the crisis by talking to the right people, and it'd be a lot less boring too. Anyway, Muggles can only see their side of the story. It was mainly Death -" Malfoy stopped quickly, glancing at Hermione.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked curiously.

"It's none of your concern," Malfoy said crossly. "Now go back to reading your book."

Hermione sighed quietly and turned back to the book, staring at the bold font emblazoned on the cover. There had to be some way… She paused suddenly as an idea occurred to her.

"You know, Malfoy, how do I know you're actually borrowing the use of my room for a while, and not holding me for some ulterior motive?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy looked annoyed. "Do I care what you think?"

"What if you're keeping me hostage as part of a Death Eater mission to threaten Harry Potter with the harming of his friends?" Hermione asked earnestly.

Hermione cheered silently as Malfoy's eyebrows furrowed. Reverse psychology was indeed a powerful thing.

"This is _not_ a Death Eater mission," Malfoy said sharply.

"But if you're not going to give me any other reasonable explanation, what else can I think?" Hermione replied.

Malfoy sighed. "I don't want to have to talk about it, okay?"

"You don't have to talk about it, you just have to tell me," Hermione insisted. "Then I'll shut up."

Malfoy considered for a long while.

"Well, after all I guess by the time you can tell anyone this, I'll be far away." Malfoy said slowly

Hermione frowned a little. What did that mean?

"In a nutshell, I'm just waiting for my plane out of this country."

Hermione blinked. "Why do you need to hide before you take a plane?" She paused. "Why _are_ you taking Muggle transportation, anyway?"

Malfoy paused for a length of time. Hermione noticed that at some point he had started twirling his wand, dark mahogany against white fingers.

"I'm on the run from the Death Eaters," he said calmly. The wand spun faster.

"What!?" Hermione gasped. "Why?" _Was it because you failed to kill Professor Dumbledore?_

Malfoy shrugged. "I just didn't feel like being part of them anymore," he said.

Hermione shook her head, but it didn't seem to make her thoughts any clearer. "Okay, no I don't get it. You don't want to be a Death Eater why?"

On retrospect, that was a stupid question. She could think of plenty of reasons why a normal person wouldn't want anything to do with Death Eaters or Voldemort. Malfoys didn't quite fit under the tag of 'normal', though.

"I've already answered your question, I think that'll do," Malfoy said rather acidly.

"Wait, no, are you defecting? Are you joining the Order?" Did he intend to be another Snape?

Malfoy started at the sound of the name and his wand clattered to the floor. He picked it up swiftly.

"Of course not," Malfoy said. "Are you crazy?"

Hermione wondered briefly if being crazy with confusion counted. "Okay so you don't want to be a Death Eater but you don't want to fight against Voldemort either? So what do you want to do? You can't just sit around here, you'll get pulled into either side eventually."

Malfoy looked at her like she was a little slow in the head. "That's why I'm leaving the country and going somewhere no one can find me?"

Hermione gaped. "You're _running away_?" she almost yelled. "What kind of cowardly action is-"

"Shut the hell up, you damned Mudblood!" Malfoy shouted, his fist rattling the table as he stood up. Hermione felt her breath quicken, her eyes trained warily on the wand tip pointed at her. Seconds passed by, both sides unmoving. Hermione felt the blood get louder in her eardrums. She couldn't blink.

Finally Malfoy sat down with a thump, resting his elbow on the table and glaring hatefully at her. "Stupid fucking Mudblood," he mumbled to himself. "Think she's so smart and great; that she has the right to comment on me, when she's probably been pampered her whole life. Her blood's probably so dirty she can't even see she's an ugly bitch whose head is too big for her body, literally."

Hermione bristled. What the hell? That was some kind of low-level insult! She guessed Malfoy hadn't changed that much, after all. And he was still one heck of a coward. She looked at him in disgust. Malfoy was absolutely revolting. Running away? Come on, she had even less respect for him now than when (she thought?) he was a Death Eater. Was that why he had been unable to kill Professor Dumbledore? Not because his conscience was eating at him, but because he was too _scared_?

Malfoy glanced up at her. "Don't look at me like that," he spat, and the wand shivered in the tightness of his grip. "I don't owe you any damn explanation."

Hermione forced herself to look away. It was not a good idea to further anger him now. He seemed very unstable, and she didn't know what was his tipping point. If there really was a tipping point? Hermione was confused. She had (did?) really believed him when he said he was running away. He had seemed too realistic to be lying…or was he just an astonishingly good actor?

Hermione breathed out slowly. To figure that out, she'd have to break him down slowly.

"Uh, Malfoy…" Hermione started hesitantly. Draco? Should she call him that? Probably not, that'd make him more suspicious than relaxed.

"Malfoy, why don't you join the Order?" Hermione asked in a sudden inspiration. As Malfoy turned to give her a very strange look, she hurried on. "Maybe not actually _join_ the Order, but ask for their protection. You need protection from the Death Eaters, right? That's why you're in hiding now?"

"Are you crazy?" Malfoy demanded, and Hermione did think he was quite right. Had she just asked a probable Death Eater to join the Order? "You're just going to torture information on the Dark Lord out of me. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"We'd never do that!" Hermione said indignantly. "We're the good side!"

"_'The good side_!'" Malfoy scoffed. "Look, I know you're all proud of being all pure and white-robed, but get real, alright? The world's not al white and black. I know for a fact Dumbledore secretly used the Cruciatus curse on Death Eaters to get them to reveal information."

"I don't believe you!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast. "Who told you that?"

"My…" Malfoy stopped suddenly. "My father."

"Ha!" Hermione crowed. "Lucius is…" Hermione just managed to prevent herself from saying 'an evil, lying bastard'. "…not particularly reliable," she ended somewhat lamely.

"He had proof!" Malfoy retorted.

"What proof?" Hermione asked.

"Death Eaters who had suffered the curse," Malfoy said confidently.

"But…they're not really reliable either," Hermione said. She was dying to scream at him, 'Come on! They're Death Eaters! Do you think you can trust them?'

Malfoy glared mutinously at her. "Do you think I'm more likely to believe my father or you?"

Hermione stared at him, his aggressively hunched back, the long nails rapidly scratching his wand. She felt suddenly sorry for him. What kind of sad life it must be to grow up believing and looking up to an evil, power-hungry mass murderer? No wonder Malfoy was so messed up. She thought of how it must have been like for him, being indoctrinated with the ways of the Dark Lord since infancy, led through all his formative years immersed in dark beliefs. It must have been a shock to him when he was dropped into Hogwarts, where things were so very different, and his beloved father was more feared than admired and hated than revered. Was that why, pushed into a corner, the coward had reacted like a coward, and pushed and kicked and shouted like a bully?

"My father," Malfoy said harshly, "is great. He may be rather ruthless, and he may have beliefs that many people don't agree with, but he is brave. He's willing to stand up against the common tide and fight for his belief, tooth and nail. I can see that if no one else can."

Okay… Hermione thought. That was one way to glorify a twisted killer. She looked at Malfoy. He seemed so much like a child at that moment, a little boy wearing clothes too big for him, trying to fill a role ready for him, but that he was not yet ready to fill.

"But," Malfoy said abruptly. "But he doesn't need me. He doesn't need my help to prove to the world his greatness. He'll be out of Azkaban in no time and then you'll know. The others are already working on an esca- Anyway, I'm sure he'll be alright with my decision...mostly. I've been selfish and cowardly my whole life, anyway."

Hermione stared on in a kind of morbid fascination. Malfoy was clearly trying to rationalise with himself his reasons for running away. Aloud. In her presence. This felt like some twisted psychological experiment, and the side of her that craved knowledge couldn't help dancing in joy.

"Why do you want to…leave?" Hermione asked carefully, hoping she would not push him into reticence.

"I cannot stand this life," he said bitterly. "I don't believe in the cause like Father does. I cannot do the things the Dark Lord asks of his followers."

In other words, Hermione thought silently, he was too cowardly to kill and torture others. That was so Malfoy, Hermione thought, and for once, it wasn't all a bad thing.

"But…what about your mother?" Hermione asked. She remembered there had been mention his mother was under threat if he did not carry out the orders of the Dark Lord.

"She'll be alright," Malfoy said with a smile, and Hermione was sure he hadn't noticed the upward quirk of his lips. "Father has guaranteed her safety. The Dark Lord cannot operate without my father," he ended proudly.

"When he was first put in Azkaban it was different. The Dark Lord was upset with his carelessness and over-confidence in obtaining the prophecy. But now he's convinced the Dark Lord of his worth again, and besides, he'll be out in under a fortnight."

Hermione was over the moon. Malfoy was practically vomiting information into her lap! He must be really lonely. That was probably why he'd been so chatty too. He had no one to talk to.

Hermione paused in her thoughts. Wait a minute, she was thinking as if every word of Malfoy's was true! She couldn't be sure it was…was it part of his ruse to make her think he was harmless? Maybe after that he'd probe for information on Harry or the Order. Could he be after information on the Horcruxes? Not that he'd get much anyway. The search was on but not yielding results so far, and Harry and Ron hadn't even joined the hunt yet. Moody had thought it more important that they spend at least a month brushing up on their skills first, since they would be up against more dangerous foes more often now. She was due to join their training midway, after she'd spent some time with her parents.

"Can you not tell anyone else this?" Malfoy's voice cut into her thoughts.

"Huh?" Hermione said.

"About me running away; defending my father. He would hate to know this. It would hurt his pride."

Hermione didn't know what to say. This was not the kind of thing a Malfoy would say. This was not even the kind of thing Ron or Harry would say. It required a staggering amount of humility. Malfoy really loved his father, Hermione thought sadly.

"Okay," she said.

"I don't believe you," he said shortly.

Hermione didn't reply.

"Of course you'd tell Potter and the others. How else could you explain why I bunked over in your house for ten days? Anyway, it's your _duty_."

And he was right, of course. Why had she lied?

More worrisome, why had she meant it when she said it?

_"__If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each person's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.__"  
_--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


	4. Interlude

So I decided to stop. It was just too bad. I really wanted to write that plot (although right now I'm just trundling out a list of D/Hr clichés) but I was completely uninspired and it was such torture wringing out sentences upon sentences of nonsense. I'll be taking this fic down in a few days, but maybe in the future, if I feel inspired, I might revamp what I have and put the story up as an AU. If so, I'll probably put it up on under my penname Snooza.

To those who have actually been following my fic, I'm really very sorry, and as my parting gift please accept two partial versions of the first chapter penned at various intervals during the 2 years from plot bunny to plot bastardisation. Completely un-beta-ed and un-read-through (yay for hyphens), so mistakes aplenty. You can probably see why my fic never saw the light of day till now (and so it should have stayed).

* * *

**THE HOITY-TOITY 'I ****CAN ****USE PRESENT TENSE' VERSION**

Midsummer madness. There is no other explanation.

She sits up the instant she sees him, hurriedly and without elegance, the flower-printed coverlet scrunching under her heels. The movement takes less than two seconds, but it's like time has stretched and in slow-motion her line of sight grows to encompass his lower torso, then his legs, and finally ending in his socked feet. Her mind compensates by thinking even faster, a hodgepodge maelstrom of _why_s and _how_s but with a growing thunder of _ohmygodohmygodno_ threatening to crowd out all independent thought.

Then he clears his throat, and the world snaps back to real-time, because her mind has stopped.

"So you're finally awake," he says neutrally, and she starts, like she has suddenly realised for the first time that he's here.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" she asks, immediately feeling stupid. What else would he be doing in her bedroom? He was a murderer. Even though he still had no murdered anyone yet, she thought. No, a would-be murderer, that was it, but with or without that little adjective (was it an adjective?) it made no difference. He was still dangerous, he was still a death-eater (was he?), he was Draco Malfoy and he was in her room and she was going to die, she was sure of it.

"Are you listening?" Malfoy said, and this time she actually shrinks back against her pillow because there is a distinct note of exasperation to his voice, and she is suddenly afraid he must have threatened to kill her and she missed it, because she was worrying about his status as a killer or going-to-be.

"Look, I asked you if you could stop staring at me as if I was going to eat you, it's pissing me off," Malfoy said, and she is almost sure she hears the sound of her tension shattering, because suddenly he is not Draco Malfoy the would-be murderer but Draco Malfoy the stupid git.

She mentally chides herself for having been carried away by the adrenaline of fear and locks eyes with Malfoy, but then she notices how white his silver eyes are and she remembers the night Dumbledore died and how the moon had been so round, and then she's confused again, and she has to settle for staring at his mouth.

Her mind is starting to hurt. People always said she thought too much but she couldn't help it, that was what she did...best? That was what she did, yes, and now she was thinking about what the hell was Draco Malfoy doing in her bedroom, was he going to kill her, why had he not escaped London when he was being hunted for everywhere, should she be scared of him, was he really a would-be murderer or did he really have no choice about Dumbledore, was he being in her room to do with a death-eater mission –

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" she says again, and this time she is more accusing, because one minute has passed and he has not murdered her. Still a would-be murderer, nothing more.

He is ignoring her, looking instead at his hands, and she follows his gaze, noticing for the first time he is holding two wands. One of them is hers, she realises with a sudden jolt, and the fear is gripping her again as she sees how he is so very at home in this cramp, marigold-walled room with yellow flowers on the bedsheets.

_Oh my gosh he is going to kill me_ her mind screams while her body remains rigid _no sudden movements!_ and her eyes dart around for help – windows closed probably locked; lamp too far away; his eyes now locked on hers; nothing to be seen from the window except the moon and the tip of her neighbour's house; thin fingers twirling her wand; books? no books on her bed where are all the damn potential weapons?; the door nearer him than her; whose coat was that hanging behind the –

"Oh my gosh. You kidnapped me from the pub!"

Her mind rewinds, and she sees herself in Eldens with her friends, and the stocky man in the brown coat, brown eyes, thinning brown hair whitening at the roots. She hears him speak, hears herself speak. What happened next? What happened to her friends? Her eyes are on his wands again and she wonders whether they were used.

"It was not _kidnap_. I have better things to do than _kidnap_ people." Malfoy looks annoyed again. He twirls her wand.

Hermione feels her shoulders relax. He can't have done anything, surely.

"Did you take me somewhere against my will? Then you kidnapped me." It is easier to speak now.

"I don't believe you're unwilling to be in your own house."

"Not with you taking me hostage in my own room!"

"A hostage is the term for a person held to ensure that another person meets some specified condition. Please note that that requires at least three people involved."

Hermione is boiling. "I don't have time to discuss semantics with you!" Somehow, it is hilarious to be verbally sparring with a likely death-eater and killer who has her trapped in her own bedroom, and ridiculous that she is actually more concerned with winning this battle than saving her life.

She takes a deep breath. Clearly, she is not going to be able to escape within the next few minutes, so the best thing to do is to get a firm hold of the situation first. From there, she can surely device some opportunity for escape.

"What have you done to my friends? Did you hurt them? How did you manage to bring me back here?"

--

**THE CRACK VERSION**

Midsummer madness. Definitely midsummer madness. One did not wake up in one's room with a missing archenemy cum possible Death Eater and attempted murderer sitting placidly at one's desk, looking very much at home. The use of 'one's was also highly discouraged in essays, being more apt to cause confusion than anything else, as Hermione recalled her elementary school teacher telling her. Like one could care at this point.

Hermione shook her head ferociously. Obviously the shock had short-circuited one's, uh, her brain.

"Okay, I'm just going to walk out of my window now, fall to my death and wake up from this nightmare in a cold sweat," she addressed the apparition seriously.

"Well, I won't begrudge you up to the 'fall to my death' part, but I don't think you should place too much hope in the last bit," the apparition replied with equal gravity.

Hermione blinked. Okay, this was a greater case of midsummer madness than she thought. Since when was midsummer madness in her vocabulary, anyway! Or that of any respectable, well-read individual? She must have had too many drinks back at the bar…the bar!

She remembered now; she had been at Eldens, sipping her beer tentatively and chatting with her friends, basking in the exhilaration of her first time sneaking into a bar. There had been a guy next to her. Sandy brown hair peeking out from behind a bandana, rectangular-framed shades and a long black coat with the collar upturned and poking against his ear. She hadn't noticed him at first, but when he spoke, with that lulling, yet loftily authoritative drawl – she knew.

And, she, obviously gripped in the unforgiving thralls of this midsummer madness malady, turned to him and said –

"Bloody hell!" Hermione said graciously, jerking upright in bed, trying to get rid of the figurative cotton wool that seemed to be firmly intent on jamming up her cognitive functions. "How did you get from the bar to my room? How did I get from the bar to my room? Where are my parents? What the hell were you doing there anyway! Shouldn't you be dead, dying, or being tortured to death by Voldemort? Are you here to kill me? Who paid the bill at the bar? My wand! Where's my wand!"

Hermione patted her pockets wildly, a sinking feeling growing as she realised her pockets were empty. She looked up slowly, noticing for the first time the hand resting on his crossed legs held her wand, and it was pointing directly at her.

She expelled her breath slowly, forcing her tense shoulders to relax. Think logically, she ordered herself, you can handle this. "Oh, uh if you were going to be predictable and ask me which question to answer first, I don't really care – just start from the first question and work from there."

She paused for thought. "But skip the last question, I'll take it as your treat."

"Uh I meant the second last question, the last was rhetorical," Hermione amended, mentally screaming at herself for even bothering to say such inane things.

"I was just going to say that I do not believe our relationship is of the stage where I feel compelled to answer such questions," Malfoy said with some primness.

A sudden knocking on her door froze Hermione in the midst of formulating a witty retort.

"Hermione?" a worried voice issued through the door. "Are you okay? Were you shouting just now?"

Hermione stared at the door, willing herself not to leap for the window, this be a nightmare or not. How the hell was she going to explain to her mother that she had a boy in her room in this ungodly hour of the night?

"Sorry Mrs Granger," Malfoy called pleasantly. "We're still discussing the project."

The door opened and Jean Granger stuck her head in, thick brown hair curling messily about her sleepy face. "I hope it's not my overzealous daughter keeping you up," she said, stifling a yawn as she beamed at Malfoy. "Do get to sleep soon, dears, or the sun will rise soon."

"No problem," Malfoy said, his smile mirroring hers. "Goodnight, Mrs Granger!"

"Goodnight," she echoed as the door closed.

Project? Hermione thought confusedly. What project? Wait, of course there was no project! The last tendrils of fuzzy sleepiness diffused as Hermione's mind went into overdrive. Remember who this is, Hermione told herself coldly. This was the boy who killed Dumbledore, sort of, and very possibly a Death-eater. She couldn't believe she'd almost forgotten this; he'd seemed so normal, so nonchalant. There was none of the coldness and wariness she'd felt from Lucius Malfoy and Karkaroff…and Snape.

He'd killed Dumbledore. Suddenly Hermione was very wide awake, and very scared. He may not have done so directly, and it had seemed he hadn't wanted to, but it couldn't be denied that he was very much connected to Voldemort, and now he was sitting in her room sometime past midnight, pointing her wand at her.

He looked the same. He didn't look any more evil, any more like a Death Eater than he had in the past six years she had known him

All part of the act, Hermione told herself, to lull her into a sense of security. She had to tread carefully.

"What do you want with me? What have you done to my parents?" Hermione asked in as measured tones as she could muster, surprising herself with the steadiness of her voice. Her eyes roved around the room in search of a defensive weapon within reach.

Malfoy shrugged. "I just told them we had a holiday arithmancy project."

Hermione couldn't help herself. "That is so uninspired. Besides, my parents would never let a guy stay overnight in my room."

Malfoy smiled. "A little magic is always useful," he said, twirling Hermione's wand in his left hand.

Hermione gasped. "You Confunded my parents!?" A sudden fear gripped her. Malfoy was more powerful than she thought. It appeared he knew spells beyond their ministry-regulated seven-year syllabus. Even she, in her extra studying, had taken a few months to be able to use the Confundus charm accurately. She wondered, chillingly, if he knew the killing curse- but of course he did. From the way Harry had described it, it seemed Malfoy was going to kill Dumbledore with Avada Kedavra. Poor, righteous Harry, Hermione thought bitterly. He made it a point to mention specifically that Malfoy had hesitated, had looked like he would withdraw. Did he want to give Malfoy a chance, she wondered, or was he just trying to convince himself 16-year-olds couldn't kill? She was a little cynical about this 'inherent goodness' Harry seemed intent on seeing in everyone, though. Since she was still alive, Malfoy probably had some reason for keeping her alive. Perhaps it was just too troublesome to deal with a dead body? Whatever the case was, as long as she took care not to push his hand, she should be alright for the moment. And moments could mean the difference between life and death, and not only for her, but her parents as well.

"…I don't even think you're listening to me."

"Sorry?" Hermione said. Way to go, Hermione! She thought derisively. The first step to gaining a kidnapper's (well, he was, sort of) trust is to ignore whatever they're saying, of course. "Why didn't you Confund me too?" she added, by way of getting him to talk more. Maybe he'd get so caught up in rambling she could think of some intelligent escape plan.

"It's much easier to Confund muggles than wizards," he said. "Most of them have zero magic tolerance.

* * *

Thanks for sticking it out with me till now, and have a happy HP7-release day. Finally, the ride is over. :) 


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